I have my lovely friend visiting today. Danica has another new release out and it's the first of a series. Check out her blurb and excerpt and be sure to comment for a chance to win her new book!!
Hi y’all! First I’d like to thank Stacey for having me. Isn’t she the best?
Well, if you haven’t guessed yet, I’m thrilled to be here in support of my newest release, You Bet Your Banshee (The Three Kingdoms). It’s funny because the story did not start out like this at all. I had this great saga type novel in mind with subplots and tension and danger. In my head, it was like the Underworld series, yet when I started writing it, nothing worked.
But I kept hearing Magda talking to me and she was nothing like I’d originally planned. A banshee who stripped? She was supposed to have been a soldier with a platoon of banshees at her disposal, not a loner with a fat cat and a penchant for taking off her clothes. She also wasn’t supposed to have her story written in first person, but she overwhelmed me with her sheer snarkiness. To be honest, she cracked me up. So I bowed to her superior Jedi-mind tricks and allowed her to take over the story.
She also tapped into one of my secret thoughts, one I only let out when I hear a particular song. Have any of you ever thought if you stripped, for your significant other, or a room full of men, what song you’d strip to? I was always torn between The Cult’s “Firewoman” and Whitesnake’s “Slow An’ Easy”. Magda informed me she’d only dance to “Slow An’ Easy” which is what she’s doing her routine to when things to go hell in her life.
I’m giving away a copy of You Bet Your Banshee (The Three Kingdoms) to one lucky commenter who tells me which song they’d strip to. C’mon, you know you’ve thought about it!
What’s a banshee to do when she’s sentenced to death because of her inability to cry? Move to Earth and become a stripper, of course. For ten years, Magda O’Quinn has lived on Earth, supporting herself with her butt-shaking skills and hiding from the banshee queen who wants her death, before she discovers people are hunting her who won't stop until she's back in Fairworld.
The first to find her is hunky Halfling, Ryvan Keller, an agent of the fairy queen. The attraction Magda feels for him is panty-wetting to be sure, but there’s no way she'll give in to her attraction and meekly follow him back into the hell of Fairworld. She’ll have to battle extreme lust for a sexy Halfling, fall in love, and defeat an evil queen before she can get back to the business of having a life again.
Ryvan grabbed the first available booth and yanked the curtain closed behind us. He let go of my wrist, turning on me so quickly I almost backed out of the booth.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said with a growl, his big hands grabbing my shoulders. He gave me a little shake, leaning down to get in my face. “What the fuck are you doing in a place like this?”
The heat of his breath washed over my skin, bringing back the unbearable pleasure I’d felt on stage. My body flushed with arousal, my nether lips swelling and growing slick all over again.
Without warning, he yanked me up against him, one of his hands cupping the back of my head to tilt my face toward him. His full lips were just as soft as I’d imagined, but his mouth was hotter than the fires of hell could ever hope to be. He devoured me, his tongue thrusting into my mouth over and over in a perfect mimicry of what I wanted him to do much lower. I should’ve broken away, but damn, I was still on fire from my climax, needing more. My tongue danced with his, flicking over his fangs, the roof of his mouth.
I’d never been kissed with so much intensity, as though my mouth held the key to everything he needed. He tasted like apples and chocolate, a decadent combination I knew I’d dream about the rest of my life—however long it’d be. He was hard and solid against me, a wall of muscle and heat and strength. I clung to his shoulders, letting my fingernails dig into the expensive leather of his jacket. I whimpered a little. I moaned a lot. I rubbed against him like a cat in heat, trying to get the hard length of the cock pressing against my belly where I wanted it, right between my legs.
His hands, great big mitts of hands, flowed over the skin bared by my bra and skirt. His touch was gentle, light, teasing. My body produced more moisture, seeping down my passage to my thighs. He reached the globes of my ass, filling his palms with them before lifting me clean off my feet.
Startled, I broke our kiss, my legs wrapping around his hips reflexively. I gasped loudly at the feel of his cock pressing against me, rubbing in just…the right…spot. My eyes fluttered closed as I writhed against him, unable to help myself.
“Magda,” he murmured in a hypnotically seductive voice. “My Magda.”
His big hands guided my hips in a better rhythm, fucking me against him in an adolescent dry hump I hadn’t done even when I was an adolescent. I’d been an idiot because this felt better than all the full-on sex I’d had as a late teen and young adult. He was hard behind the fly of his jeans and he knew what to do with his body, circling here, rubbing there, and thrusting against me. He knew where my clit was and made sure his jean-covered cock made contact over and over again.
I was making a lot of noise. I couldn’t help myself. This was better than what happened on the stage. This was the best sex of my life and he wasn’t even inside me. I was going to come again and soak the front of his pants. Everyone who saw him would either think he wet himself, or he’d just humped a very wet, sticky woman.
Part of my brain, the rational part, told me this was wrong. That this wasn’t natural. The shameless hussy who occupied the other half of my body pushed Ms. Prude out of the way and angled my hips until he butt up against my clit harder.
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Twitter: @danicaavetBuy link: http://bookstrand.com/you-bet-your-banshee